The Black Talon

by Richard A. Knaak

  With a shriek, the knight’s mount at last fell on its side. Stefan tumbled to the ground. He managed to roll into a fighting position just as another of the undead reached for him.

  If not for the fact that many of the f’hanos were unarmed save for rocks they clutched in their grasping fingers, Stefan would have died on the spot. However, another rider came from out of nowhere and smashed the f’hanos threatening him from behind.

  Golgren, a thick sword gripped tight, grinned wildly at Stefan.

  “My horse, Sir Stefan Rennert! It can carry two, yes?”

  Beating away another f’hanos, the Solamnic leaped behind Golgren.

  “They keep resurrecting!” the human shouted. “I’ve shattered several and they just instantly reform!”

  “Yes!” was all Golgren replied. More and more f’hanos swarmed them, as if aware, despite their apparent lack of intelligence, that they had cornered the ogre leader.

  “What magic keeps them animated?” the Solamnic cried as he fought wildly from his ungainly perch. “Is there none upon which you can call?”

  The grand lord hissed then straightened. “There may be one chance! Sir Stefan Rennert! My Idaria has given me something I do not know how to use, but will try! Pray to your noble gods I succeed!”

  Screams filled the air. A giant skeleton trod through the ogres, a fleshless mastark on a rampage. Stefan grimaced as it neared the pair. “Whatever you might be able to do, you’d best try quickly!”

  “Guard me!” Golgren sheathed his sword then fumbled inside of a pouch. He pulled something free then held it up. Stefan caught a glimpse of something like a starburst.

  “No!” shouted the ogre, sounding utterly disconcerted. “This is not what I sought for! How—”

  The unsettlingly overcast sky made it seem almost like night on the battlefield. Yet some small bit of illumination struck the object in Golgren’s hand and caused it to glow like fire.

  Cursing, the grand lord sought to plunge the item back into the pouch, but it was too late.

  A mad light burst to life, blinding both riders and causing their horse to shriek and rear. Golgren let out another curse.

  Then the furious, fiery light was all that existed.

  XXI

  BEDLAM AND BLOOD

  Golgren’s hand burned as if it were utterly consumed by fire, and for a moment the ogre, unable to see, wondered whether he had lost his remaining hand. Yet he still felt the flex of his finger, so, despite the intense pain, he knew his arm was intact.

  Of the piece left to him by the gargoyle, he knew nothing. Whether it had been destroyed or simply vanished, the grand lord did not care. He had instead sought the object Idaria had pressed into his hand, the ring with the odd signet. She had been most insistent that he take it and even had said something about Tyranos giving it to her to pass to him. Golgren had been certain because of that that it would help against the f’hanos.

  How had the other thing found its way into his palm? His fingers had snared the ring. He felt its shape as he pulled it free of the pouch, and yet when he opened his hand, the accursed starburst was there. How had that happened?

  “Come, come, Grand Lord,” a voice growled in his ear. A powerful set of hands dragged him to his feet. “You can’t lie around here all day!”

  “Tyranos?” Golgren’s vision began to clear a little, but what he saw around him made no sense whatsoever.

  The area for some distance resembled the aftermath of an inferno. The ground for several yards was baked black and entirely flattened. Pressed deep into the charred soil were the crusted remnants of several skeletons.

  The imposing wizard turned him around, forcing him to look in all directions. Tyranos did not appear very pleased to see the ogre, but Golgren did not have to guess why. By coming there, the wizard likely had revealed himself to the Titans and whoever else might be observing the events through magic; that undoubtedly included whoever animated the macabre horde.

  “I should’ve let you die,” Tyranos stated bluntly. “But we can’t have that yet, can we?”

  Though Golgren was dazed, he was finally registering everything that was going on. His warriors were being decimated, just as he had feared and just as Dauroth, no doubt, desired. Thinking of the Titan made him instinctively grab at his chest for the vial.

  “Looking for something there?” asked the wizard. He gestured, and the already-damaged breastplate ripped in two, along with the tunic underneath. “Now just where is that vial I’ve wondered so much about? I have my own use for that vial, not that you’d understand what I have in mind.” Tyranos stopped short. “What by the Sea Queen—?”

  The leonine human had reached to grab the vial, trying to tear it free. Golgren screamed, the pain eating at him.

  Just as suddenly as he had seized the sealed vial, Tyranos let it go. The mage raised his hands angrily, cursing the sky.

  “Damned spellcaster!” cried Stefan, coming up from behind Tyranos and standing protectively before Golgren. “Send your dead back to their graves before I oblige you to join them!”

  The mage looked over his shoulder. “You blame me for these undead? Are you mad, Solamnic? Are you—stand aside!”

  A staff materialized in the spellcaster’s left hand. It shot to full length, its bottom tip stretching past the frowning knight’s head.

  “That’ll be your end!” declared Stefan, thrusting his weapon at the spellcaster.

  Tyranos grunted in pain as the sword lanced his side. If not for the wizard’s quick reflexes, the knight would have run him through.

  At the same time, both Golgren and Stefan realized that Tyranos had not been aiming for the Solamnic, but at another f’hanos charging toward the Solamnic. The staff struck the undead warrior directly on the breastbone. A silver aura briefly surrounded the skeleton, and the ghoul went flying.

  “Damned swift with that weapon of yours, aren’t you, you cursed fool?” Tyranos clutched his bleeding wound. “And after I saved both your miserable hides!”

  The knight looked chastened and doubtful. “I—you—saved us?”

  Tyranos glared at Golgren. “Tell him!”

  Golgren rubbed his chest. “I have trouble believing this also.”

  As Stefan stepped closer to the spellcaster, Tyranos grew furious. “You two are impossible! That starburst was not supposed to possess any power after it was taken from its puppet, at least that was what I thought! I had him leave it as a warning for you, but only—”

  “A warning?” Golgren grew cold with distrust. “By a gargoyle … by one of many gargoyles … ”

  Tyranos bared his teeth. “Not all gargoyles serve—”

  “Look out!” Stefan shouted.

  A huge paw nearly slammed down on the three of them. The skeletal mastark had moved silently and quickly sneaked up on them, despite its lack of flesh and muscle. Even without flesh and muscle, its heavy bones could have easily crushed them.

  Golgren and Tyranos were momentarily thrown away from Stefan. The grand lord spotted the wizard’s magical staff, an item he had often coveted, which had fallen to the ground. Grabbing it, Golgren held it over the spellcaster’s throat.

  “Traitor!”

  “Drop this foolhardy notion, oh Grand Lord. You think if I controlled these creatures, I’d let one of them tromp all over me?”

  “If not, then why don’t you destroy them!”

  Tyranos snorted. “You overestimate me, Grand—”

  The undead mastark loomed over them again. The wizard threw himself to one side as the fleshless foot came crashing down.

  Golgren, on the other hand, suddenly clamped his teeth around the staff and grabbed hold of the bony limb. He climbed up the creature’s leg with a dexterity that was astonishing. He felt driven by fury, driven by the need to prove himself.

  The mastark tried to jab at him with its long, curled tusks. When it was clear that Golgren would not let go, the huge f’hanos tried to buck and spin and shake him off.

  Golgren
wanted to cry out when the creature’s tusk tore away what remained of his tunic, painfully scraping his skin, but he held tight to Tyranos’s staff.

  The scarred tusk came at him once more.

  Golgren released his grip, wrapping his good arm around the mastark’s tusk and letting it lift him up.

  The mastark wildly shook its head back and forth. The ogre reached up for its neck.

  Then Golgren noticed a movement to his side. The grand lord scrambled to pull himself up as an undead warrior—possibly the mastark’s original handler—also climbed up the side of the beast, trying to reach him. The skeleton wielded the long, hooked bar normally used for guiding the great beasts.

  The long iron hook came at Golgren just as he succeeded in getting one leg up around the mastark’s neck. He used that leg to push at the hook but only partially fended it off. The hook drew a jagged red line in his leg, and Golgren was wracked by fresh pain.

  The ogre leader tried to beat at the skeletal warrior with Tyranos’s staff, momentarily stymieing his horrific foe. His arm ached, yet he held on while continuing to stab at the f’hanos.

  The undead beast continued to shake and sway, but the ogre leader finally managed to get a good grip and reach the top of the mastark.

  The moving mastark proved devilish to try to stand upon, though. Golgren satisfied himself with a crouching position, holding the staff while watching the f’hanos, which had not given up.

  The skeleton lunged at him with the hook again. Golgren caught the hook with the staff and twisted the weapon around. He disarmed the creature, which immediately lunged forward in an obvious attempt to send both of them plummeting over the side.

  Golgren swept the staff across, catching the f’hanos just above its ankles. It stumbled, then slipped down. One bony hand sought the grand lord, but he kicked it away.

  As the creature fell off, Golgren struggled forward. The mastark appeared more determined than ever to shake him off. It was all that he could do to inch his way toward the creature’s skull.

  Below, the clash of weapons and the screams of the dying told Golgren that his followers were in dire straits. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tyranos, moving in a blur, and Sir Stefan, eyeing him. The grand lord swore at Dauroth and the Titans.

  The gigantic beast whirled in a circle as it tried to reach or topple its unwanted rider. Golgren inched forward.

  At last, he made it to the top of the mastark’s skull. The undead giant reared, almost succeeding in shaking off the pest atop it.

  Golgren readied Tyranos’s staff. He knew the power it contained. That he did not know how to wield that power did not worry the ogre leader. Some sixth sense made him certain that it would do what he ordered it to do.

  So Golgren raised up the staff and struck the mastark’s skull with the crystal head.

  The silver light flashed so bright, he pulled back in startlement. The staff slipped from his hand, and he lost his balance.

  At the last moment, Golgren snagged one of the dead beast’s ribs. He dangled there, surrounded by the silver light that covered the gargantuan f’hanos from tusk to rear. The skeletal giant shivered and creaked, and as the grand lord struggled, parts of the behemoth began breaking off.

  Golgren tried to use the rib to slide toward the ground. However, he had only just begun when the beast began to lurch and trip. A heavy bone struck the ogre in the shoulder.

  He fell. Golgren was certain of his death, but then the air suddenly thickened beneath him and his descent slowed. Unfortunately, ribs and bones rained down on him from all sides.

  “C-consider that another debt that you owe me!” growled Tyranos, shaking the gleaming staff, which had fallen down and was back in his hands again. “And no—no thanks to you! You could have destroyed it! What by the Maelstrom were you thinking?”

  Golgren did not bother to answer him, especially because he did not know what to say. The urge had come upon him and he had acted.

  With a deep moan, the mastark finally collapsed. Its skull came plummeting down, crashing within a foot of the pair. Ogre and wizard rushed away from the massive crumbling skeleton.

  Just as the last parts of the giant f’hanos came crashing down around them, more of the ghoulish warriors swarmed at them from all directions. Tyranos battered away two in the lead as Golgren seized a weapon from one of his fallen warriors.

  The pair that the wizard had swatted away had already resurrected themselves. Tyranos let out an oath. “Would you mind telling me what you did with my own staff to make them stay dead?”

  “The skull! It was the skull I struck, wizard! Atop!”

  Tyranos tried again, trying to hit the two skeletal warriors on top of their skulls, and that time the one he managed to hit on top of its head fell down in pieces and stayed down without moving. “Well, that’s something, I suppose.”

  From Golgren’s left there came a war cry and the sounds of several weapons clanging. Khleeg, somehow still mounted, was trying to lead a band of warriors to the rescue of the grand lord. The sight would have heartened Golgren if there were not so many f’hanos between the loyal officer and his master.

  Indeed, the rescuers were blocked; then they began to be forced back. Golgren tried to steer toward Khleeg, but once again they were swarmed by undead who converged on them from everywhere.

  “We must be away from here!” Tyranos shouted. He raised the crystal head of his staff to the sky, groaning with pain. Blood still dripped from the wound Sir Stefan had caused.

  Reminded of the Solamnic, Golgren searched around for Stefan, wondering what had become of the knight. He saw no sign that he was alive. He regretted the human’s passing, if only for the hope that, should they both have survived, there might still be a chance of some sort of alliance between ogres and knights.

  Golthuu—and Silvanost—seemed to be dreams that far exceeded his one-handed grasp.

  “Be ready, oh Grand Lord!” Tyranos called.

  “For what?”

  Something huge swooped just above them. With a wingspan far wider than the ogre’s height, it circled around for another pass.

  Golgren recognized the scaly behemoth: the gargoyle from the palace corridor. Arms outstretched, the winged beast’s intention was clear: to grab both figures and take them into the air.

  The idea did not sit well with the grand lord, but he accepted it as the only escape. With Tyranos, the ogre fought to clear the area to give the gargoyle proper room to land.

  With an evil grin across its wide mouth, the winged fury closed on them. The wizard, closer to the creature than Golgren, raised his arms to reach up to his rescuer.

  Golgren did the same.

  Then the entire world trembled. The ogre was tossed off his feet just as the gargoyle took hold of Tyranos.

  A sound like raging thunder but a thousand times more ear splitting shook Golgren to his very core. He heard cracking and tearing, and realized that the ground just ahead of him was opening up, great chunks of rock collapsing into the huge gap. A f’hanos just closing to reach him stumbled and fell back into the swiftly widening crevasse, vanishing from sight.

  All around Golgren, the land shook harder and harder. In every direction, huge pieces of earth and stone tore apart or shot up into the air. Ogres and undead alike were tossed about like playthings.

  Tyranos and his pet gargoyle had vanished in the sky. Golgren fought to maintain his balance.

  He fell to his knees, rose, then almost immediately fell down again. The one thing that the grand lord had accomplished was to achieve a low vantage from which he could see better what was happening all around him, but that view only left him cold.

  The entire landscape from the edge of Garantha to far to the west was caught up in a quake of tremendous magnitude. The legions of f’hanos were perishing by the scores, most of them falling into horrific gaps, which opened and suddenly closed again. His own followers fared no better. Golgren witnessed a horse and rider simply sink beneath the land without even the c
hance for a scream, while other ogres fled in outright panic as relentless rock flows poured over them.

  As for the city itself, its walls stood unperturbed, untouched. The towers did not tremble in the least nor were there any plumes of dust and smoke as filled the air about him. Garantha was safe and sound and, strangely, entirely untouched. The citizens surely knew what was going on outside the city, but for them it was merely a monstrous spectacle to watch in awe.

  It was a spectacle courtesy of Dauroth.

  “The land will be ravaged for mile upon mile!” Kallel declared. “Is this not dangerous?”

  Dauroth stared down the other Titan. “It is justice.”

  “But how long dare we keep this going? It will deplete our energies, risk pushing some of us to collapse. We need more elixir, and there is barely enough for one last round as it is!”

  There was less than that, even, if truth be told, but Dauroth was not concerned. After the fight it would be simple enough to gather the elves that Golgren had put in the stone stockade and squeeze from them every drop of necessary blood. That would give the Titans an ample supply of that precious resource until the new sources of rejuvenation could be properly tested.

  “We will keep this up until the f’hanos and the grand lord share a common grave from which neither shall ever rise again! From this vast destruction will emerge at last the golden age for which we have toiled so long! There will be no further question in the mind of the people that it is the Titans who are their hope, who are their saviors, their teachers.”

  “But so many will be lost!” pointed out another Titan. “The blame for all of that—”

  “The blame for all of that shall fall upon the half-breed, naturally.”

  The other Titans could not argue. Among ogres, a failed ruler, a dead ruler, was an easy scapegoat for mistakes and catastrophes; such had been the course of things too often in ogre history.

  Dauroth focused on the spell again. An exhilaration that he had not experienced in decades filled him. He was thrilled to be destroying Golgren, he finally realized. Until that very moment, the lead spellcaster had not understood just how much he had despised the grand lord.